


a step to the right

by CkyKing



Series: the multiverse theory [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, Arranged Marriage, M/M, Mad Max!AU, Multi, Transistor!AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-15 18:20:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11236575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CkyKing/pseuds/CkyKing
Summary: fics and drabbles set into different aus : from arranged marriages to urban fantasy, rarepairs to polyship, everything goes!basically where i'll put anything that cannot stand alone or is not (yet) part of a series.





	1. néit/noctis/nyx - arranged marriage

**Author's Note:**

> that one was inspired by daemon for creating such a compelling character as néit ulric aka papa ulric. 
> 
> au where regis' detractors force him to marry noctis off to néit to stem the tides of war. problem is, nyx and noctis are lovers. the galahdian warriors do not expect the prince to be such a spitfire.

“Noctis, you have to let him go.” Néit said from where he knelt, gauging the prince,  _his husband now_  he corrected himself, from a distance as he directed his warriors with a harsh tilt of his chin. Soon enough, they were surrounded, hiding the sight of their “prize”, bloody and fierce pressing a dagger to one of Néit’s youngest warrior’s throat.

The prince did not even twitch at the mention of his name, whole body poised to strike down at the offender looking up at him in horror, not having expected such a reaction from the seemingly delicate boy. His eyes were wells of ice, barely hiding the violent currents of anger running wild underneath their glittering surface. Blood trickled down the edge of the kukri clenched in his palm, red filling the the Galahdian carvings and throwing them into relief.

Rage and grief tightened around his throat at the visceral reminder. He could still feel Nyx’s frantic hands on him as they warped to the Citadel’s heights for privacy, the surge of bitterness that welled up in his throat, the concern in pale blue eyes he so loved, the order to just breathe to hold back the urge to scream.  

It was those last stolen moments he held close to his chest, just like he had his lover’s weapon when it had been pressed in his hand, “Don’t let them get you, Myshka. Fight them, kill them if necessary.  _Promise me_.”

Those words echoed in his mind, and he intended to put them to the test. From Néit, and for his own survival, he could accept those possessive touches, knowing that there was real concern behind them, but from another? Never. He refused to be debased so.

“Myshka,  _please._ ”

The nickname, learnt from the letters his son had sent home to his family, caught Noctis’ attention, his head turning to the side in search of the one who had called him so.

Néit held back a sigh of relief at the reaction, aware of how thin a line they were walking. Violet eyes, burning in their intensity met his, and he braced himself for another battle. From his position, he could see the prince’s lips moving, mouthing words in a language he could not make out. Sparks trailed down to the dagger’s edge to their cadence, the hunter held at its mercy blanching each time they grazed his skin.

“Myshka,” he tried again, “Please come here, let him go. He will be punished for trying to harm you, I swear.”

The warrior’s nearly pleading voice and the sincerity radiating from him were what broke through the haze obscuring Noctis’ vision. With a disinterested glance, he reversed his grip in a single deadly movement and hit this prey across the face, sending him sprawling to the ground. Then, with the same lack of care that had been shown to him earlier, the Lucian stepped on the man’s spread palm and ground down until he heard the messy snap of bones breaking.

To the people surrounding him, he looked deadly and unconcerned, like a predator who would only about what got in his way long enough to kill it.

Dismissing his dagger, Noctis walked toward Néit unhurriedly, the heavy silence surrounding them only broken by the whimpers echoing from behind him.

“Do you think they will respect me now?” He asked as he got close enough to lay a hand on his husband’s arm, bonding tattoos a harsh black against the paleness of his skin.


	2. néit/noctis + nyx/noctis - pacific rim!au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> pacific rim!au where nyx is raleigh, noctis is mako and néit marshal pentecost. except néit and noctis are drift-compatible and nyx did not expect that when he came back after losing selena, his copilot, to a daemon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a soft spot of mine which is currently being worked on as a full fic!

“Welcome back, Nyx.”

Those simple words, calm but heavy with years of unvoiced feelings, rang in his head as he followed the one who had uttered them. Everything seemed both different and exactly the same, old reflexes coming back, easy as breathing; a side-step to avoid the broken grate that have not been repaired since his departure, getting out of the way of busy mechanics as they hurried to who knew where, following a path he had taken hundreds, thousands of times.

But no, he shook his head slightly, not everything was the same. His scars throbbed in reminder the further he went into the Shatterdome, the left side of his body pulling at Nyx, screaming at him to go, to get far away from the place that had stolen so much from him.

_It gave just as much as it took_ , a painfully familiar voice whispered distinctly in the back of his mind, her no nonsense tone as perfectly clear as when he had last heard her. This time, the only thing that betrayed him was a slight narrowing of his eyes, invisible to everyone else. Only a select few would have been able to see past it, and the two closest were in front of him, strides matching one another’s as they led him to the control room.

Noctis was grown now, nothing like the child he used to carry on his shoulders, his back broad and his spine straightened by the casual confidence that emanated from him. Nyx’s eyes couldn’t help but linger on the soft slant of his mouth as he turned his head to the side, so unlike the hard line it had been when greeting the former Ranger. Néit, walking alongside him, appeared unaffected by Noctis’ behaviour, but to the new arrival’s eyes, the signs were evident.

It was eye-opening to see the way they were so at ease with one another, a slow revelation that had started on the helipad where the Lucian had been waiting for him, black umbrella hiding his features from the younger Ulric’s gaze. His father, not even glancing once back at him, had headed straight for the younger man, had taken it from his hands and drawn him closer in a single movement that betrayed an ease with sharing space. This natural yet intent way of moving around another person could not come from a simple relationship between a superior and his subordinate, or even between a son and a family friend.

He did not know why, but something clenched in his chest at the sight.  _You are so fucking stubborn sometimes,_  whispered the same voice, fond annoyance lacing the otherwise cutting words.

As usual, he snuffed it out, mind emptying of thoughts as he focused on the metal corridors leading him back toward the life he had so dearly wished to forget on the Wall, high above the world he wanted to protect.

But the sea, the salt, the wind; everything seemed so far away now, the sight of Noctis’ fingers grazing Néit’s hand, featherlight, stealing all of it from his mind. 

Drift-partners, there was something about them that pushed the rest of the world out, that left a deep and almost tangible thrum in the air between them. Nyx had never thought to see his father experience it again.

Noctis looked back only once as they got close to the hangars, eyes unreadable, before returning his attention to the files in his hands, trusting Néit and his own reflexes to avoid anything in his path. Nobody blinked twice at him, so used were they to Noctis dealing with figures and data, Clarus’ uprising shining through, and discussing it with the Marshal in their own language of half-sentences and quiet sounds.

Nyx felt very alone in that moment.


	3. nyx/noctis - transistor!au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> that game _wrecked_ me, which means that of course i had to turn this into a nyxnoct fic aka the singer and his talking sword.
> 
> insomnia attacked by daemons, a singer and his bodyguard embroiled in schemes they had no idea of until that point.

“Hey,” Nyx’s voice, warped and echoing as it now was did nothing to break Noctis out of his panic as he tried and failed to stop himself from coughing out, “Noct, sweetheart, breathe for me, okay? Breathe.”

It was the familiar intonation more than anything else that snapped him out of it, his breathing stuttering as he fought to calm himself in spite of the pain in his throat. Listening to Nyx’s calm reassurances, he let himself slide down the wall of the dark alley he had somehow been transported to, tightening his arms against the sword that had led to this very situation.

“I don’t know what happening, but we’re going to get to the bottom of this, alright? We’re going to get your voice and my body back, and I will take you to Galahd like I promised you.”

This pulled a slight smile from Noctis, and he looked gratefully down a the blade which now housed Nyx’s body and soul.

***

“Are you wearing my jacket?” Nyx’s voice echoed. “You know how much I love you in it. A little strange with the suit, but you make it work.”

An amused puff of air answered him as Noctis changed his grip on the now one-handed sword, smile dancing at the edge of his lips. Ever since Nyx had been absorbed, the weapon’s shape hadn’t stopped changing, flowing from broadsword to dagger to lance without prompting. A little disorientating, but he could work with it.

“You are terrifying, Noct, you know that? I never understood why you hired me in the first place. You can take care of yourself just fine, my fierce little star.”

The bodyguard’s words were proven true when Noctis cut through the approaching daemons in a single leap, crystal fragments hovering around his legs. The Dancer’s soul was light and airy, her voice a fierce lament to the people she had fought for, and lost. With her determination a fevered chant in his veins, nothing could touch Noctis, not as long as he willed it so.

“You feel like moonlight, my star; cold and distant. I don’t think you should use it for that long.”

Noctis himself understood the concern behind Nyx’s voice, but the edges of his self, melding with the Dancer’s, screamed in denial. The soul, twisted and repurposed as a weapon against darkness, thrashed and bucked against Noctis’ iron clad control, straining toward the daemons brushing at the edge of their perception.

But as always, Nyx was a warm weight at the back of his mind, heavy and protective. Pushing back against the coldness trying to invade him was easier with such an anchor at his back. The Dancer’s voice, usually a match to Noctis’ in loveliness, rose and rose into an awful shriek that sent the nearby windows rattling with the force of its vibrations, until, abruptly, it cut off, her soul retreating back to its prison at its warden’s prompting.

“Well, she’s a fighter that one. Still, no match for us, right?”

***

“I love you, Noct. I love you so, so much. You know that, right?“

Noctis’ heart twisted in his chest with each slurred word that resonated from Nyx’s prison, both from their sincerity and the pain that hid behind every syllable. As they got closer and closer to the Citadel, his lover’s state grew worse, the weapon shivering imperceptibly with the strain of keeping one form for more than a minute. But Nyx, Nyx ignored it and kept cheering him on, talking to fill the silence that Noctis could no longer break.

“Because I do, I really do.”

And each time, his heart broke a little more.

Stopping once again in an alley, out of sight of the Iron Giants blocking the main street, Noctis leaned back against the grimy wall and curled his arms lovingly around the sword, praying with all his heart that at least a sliver of sensation would find his way to Nyx. As he pressed his cheek closer to the hilt, he pulled out his phone and typed one more message, just as they had been doing since the attack had robbed him of his voice and Nyx of his body. A low and shuddering sigh seemed to brush delicately against the singer’s neck, and he knew then that his lover had both felt and seen what he had meant to convey.

_I’m going to find whatever is doing this to you, and I’m going to make it pay_


	4. mad max!au - aranea saves the day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mad max!au where noctis, luna, iris, crowe and cindy are the royal family's brides/assassins and aranea whisks them away to a better life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that one was really entertaining to write, though the ulrics are the royal and pretty much bad all around. but mama aranea is not going to leave the brides to their fate while she can do something about it.

The Ulrics have been the ruling family of Eos for generations, keeping their power through their utter lack of mercy when it comes to opponents. But one thing that characterizes each and every one of them is their fascination with beauty; clear eyes, red-bitten lips, the flash of a dagger in the midst of battle, the heft of a well-made weapon, they simply cannot resist it.

From the very first king to the last-born of the line, it is customary to build themselves a horde, like dragons putting everything that catches their eye within reach to better kill the ones who would dare covet it. One of those things, a tradition passed from one ruler to the next, is an harem, each member hand-picked and trained by the kings themselves.

For Néit, his harem are warriors before they are anything else, the very few besides his own guards and family he will let close to him in his most vulnerable moments. Amongst he most precious members in his eyes are the youngest, whose potential shone through the grim battlefields he picked them from; mere teenagers that had fought off one of Niflheim’s many invasions at the edges of his kingdom.

Luna, whose magic burned like a star and lit entire fields aflame, so different from the polished shine of Niflheim’s armors. He was taken the moment he saw her step in the paths of charging MTs to protect the injured she had been diligently healing.

Iris, whose strength rivalled and exceeded that of most men, broadsword tearing through enemies and leaving their corpses to gather at her feet. For her, it was the coolness of her countenance when faced with men twice her age and towering monsters.

Cindy, crafty Cindy who flitted in and out of battle like a ghost, turning the ancient technology of Solheim against those who would call themselves its heirs; turning MTs into bombs, managing feats he would be hard-pressed to replicate with magic, and all of this without once losing her smile.

And finally, Noctis, heir of the ruling family that had preceded his, magic Galahd still could not touch without burning howling around him. Watching him reappear behind Niflheim’s lines only to reduce them to ashes had been a rare threat, and one that he still appreciated years after that first time.

Néit had crushed the invasion like it was nothing and taken those four as payment, ignoring their people’s protests or the hushed whispers speaking of escape into the night. His chosen knew that to do so would be a death sentence to them, and the people they had fought so hard to protect. Refusing to show any sign of distress as they were branded and taken back except for the slight brush of shoulder against shoulder or hands held as they kept their own fear and pain at bay.

Truly, they were his favourites since that battle, but they would not be complete without the last one, hailing from Galahd itself.

Crowe, dirty and merciless, who had killed a noble with her bare hands for daring to harm her friend. The look on her face as she did so was one he would never forget, and he had whisked her away for himself before anyone could ever think about punishing her.

She was the one who took his newest under her wing, older and knowing all there was to know about being an Ulric’s warrior, and the one who warmed their bed after a fight.

From king to king, the harem varies in function; always a place for beautiful things, but this beauty flows and changes with each individual. For Néit, they were assassins, veils and hoods hiding their identity from anyone but their master the rare times they are seen out of the harem, and it is now up to Nyx to choose.

It is another unspoken test in the end. Would Nyx manage to win their loyalty, or would he be killed, his death turned into the key to their cage? As long as Néit holds the other half of their brands, they must obey him in fear of pain and being forever cut off from their own innate power. There are no such safeguards for his heir, not until he is officially crowned king.

It is during this time that Aranea arrives in the capital, her and her men hired to ferry gifts, or bribes rather, from the four corners of Eos in honour of their last king. Having to pander to nobles makes her sick, but the money is good and she doesn’t complain too much.

The Dragoon meets the Brides in a bar on her first night there, not that she realizes it until the middle of the night with how well they hide it.

They are a lovely bunch, she can say that much. Noctis and Luna casually charming the bartenders only to delight at their blush, Cindy playing distractedly with her drink as she sketches plans on a napkin, Crowe smugly drinking regulars under the table and Iris crushing men’s egos with her strength. One of the first, and last, nights of freedom they can enjoy before being locked up once again in their gilded cage. It’s strange and just a bit nerve-wracking to be out without their customary veil, but they feel lighter for it.

Aranea’s loyalty is only to herself and a select few, and there is a reason for that. She looks at those five warriors and sees herself once again, pale and afraid and clutching a lance in her trembling hands, blood dripping down the shaft and staining her hands red. The mark on her back she keeps hidden at all times twinges a little at the memory. Nobody ever found his corpse, and her father would never say a word about it. Néit’s brother was king before him after all, and his death will be the secret she takes to her grave.

As the night progresses, Crowe starts picking up long buried fragments of magic from her drinking partner of the night. With an unremarkable touch of her booted foot to Noctis’ chair, she feels his and Luna’s attention sharpen on Aranea, who is impressed by the silent communication humming between the five of them. She knows the moment they realize she bears the same mark as them, Iris and Cindy’s postures changing in the slightest way that screamed interest and caution; because they are the only five in the entire harem to bear a Bride’s mark.

It’s stupid and she could get killed for it, but she cannot leave them here. Even her long-buried morals cannot abide it, especially knowing that she could have been in their place.

In short order, the six of them leave with a groan of disappointment from the patrons who had become used to their presence during the week. Aranea does not startle at the fingers grazing her bare arm before they spread out, Noctis and Luna accompanied by the mirages they created going in one direction while the rest of them continue heading deeper into the city. It is much easier to hide when they stay where they are supposed; leaving the city’s premises would just bring attention to them.

When they are finally alone in one of the Brides’ hideouts spread through the city, the little places they rest in before going back to the palace, Aranea speaks her mind, but keeps ready to summon her lance just in case. She may be feeling altruistic, but she is not dying in the process.

“Do you want to come with me?


End file.
